There are roughly 1 million pregnancies that ends in miscarriage each year
That’s 19 miscarriages every minute
That’s 57 miscarriages by the time I finish this poem
Each one is different and affects the parents in different ways
But to outsiders, they’re all the same
So you all treat them all the same
Friends and families come together from near and far to make sure that mother is ok
Wipe her tears that seem to last forever
Hold her tightly when she feels that she’s about to lose her mind
Forces her to eat
Sleep
Rest
Get up
Shower
Get dressed
Go out
Have fun
Smile
Get better
She thanks them for their love, support and help
But no one ever asks the father how he’s doing
Or how he feels
So for myself and every other father of little lost angels
I’d like to say
Saying it feels like hell would be a gross understatement
Its feels more like God said let there be
But didn’t include my child in this
Didn’t have my child on His mind when writing out His perfect will
But He concluded that 1 in every 4 pregnancies would end in miscarriage
Why did my child have to be the chosen one
And no I wouldn’t dare wish this on even my worst enemy
But it’ll make you ask question like ‘why don’t our perfect God have a perfect record with this’
What made my innocent child so unworthy
Was not His son enough
Did He have to take mine as well
Why did he allow the doctor to carry my soul in her hands as she walked into the hallway
It felt like dying each time a drop of blood fell from her hands and hit the floor
I can’t even remember how many drops of blood there were because I forgot to breathe in those moments
I felt like God had crucified me
For he had my nose
My ears
My blood
And my name
And this is a cross that I’m forced to carry still
5 years later
So do me a favor
Next time you hear of a miscarriage
Whether from your sister, friend, cousin, aunt, niece, mother or daughter
Please say a prayer for the father
Pray that he doesn’t die
Like I did